Felicidades

It was late. It felt oddly surreal and strangely good to be driving the streets of Tijuana again. Familiar. As if this past year didn't wipe the whole experience away, snatch it from my grasping fingertips. I was back.

I'm not so good at planning. I've frankly gotten really bad about it when it comes to traveling and just figure everything will be fine as long as I have my passport and multiple means of accessing money. We drove past the university where the graduation would be held, hoping to find a place to stay nearby. It was the same dusty university I had visited long ago as a guest with the other English teachers from my TJ school. There is nowhere to stay out there.

I drove through my old neighborhood, avoiding the few hooker-ish hotels that exist over there. Alec's words came into my mind...."There's this place, the blue and white used to pass by there, you know, after it goes down that huge hill toward Otay. It's like a fortress, it has walls around it, Holly's car would be safe there. I think it's for some kind of Japanese CEOs that come to visit the maquiladoras". Well I was hard up, and I followed his directions to the walled place that actually looked freakishly nice, for only 300 pesos? I pulled in. A guard rail stopped incoming cars. Wow, security, nice! Oddly, a woman sat in a glass box and rolled out a drawer, like in gas stations in bad parts of town. It seemed out of place in the beautifully manicured hotel. "Do you have room for two people.....," I asked in Spanish "is this a hotel?" I continued, while eyeballing the garages under each room. Maybe they were condos? "You can speak in English" the woman responded curtly. "We have room. Three hundred pesos". I put the money in the drawer. She stared back at me. "Do we get a key?" I asked. "It's open" she responded.

We drove past the dark condo-room things, were we the only people staying there? One garage door was open and we drove in, closing it behind us. We went upstairs. The room was huge and decorated in a modern, yet kind of Stanley Kubrick style. The bathroom looked expensive and crazy modern, something you would see in some expensive hotel in the centro. A little door in the wall opened so that food and expensive bottles of liquor, wine and champagne could be inserted through the wall in your room without having to let a room service person in. It had a flat screen TV, air conditioning, cable and a giant king sized bed. In short, it was awesome. But in Otay? Why in Otay? In the middle of the factories? This place really didn't look like a business hotel and the one thing it lacked was a decent wifi connection. Something odd and kind of hooker-ish was afoot, but oh well.

We left early the next morning after paying for another night and closing our garage door behind us, racing to the ceremony that began at 7:30AM. I was tired. I slightly questioned the wisdom of voluntarily attending what could be five hours of graduation ceremonies. As I drove through the parking lot, I saw my old students walking with their caps and gowns. A sense of deja vu washed over me. Thankfully, they were late too. I immediately saw Hector and felt completely at ease. We rushed into the auditorium and stood in the back, as familiar and surprised faces of my former fellow teachers passed and greeted me with hugs and kisses.

Suddenly, the vice principal was at my side, grabbing my arm and ushering me to the front. Oh, no, oh no. My sister was abandoned to Hector's care and I did not know what was in store for me. Please don't make me speak to the crowd, please don't make me speak to the crowd. As I moved to the front, I again felt a sense of deja vu, remembering the many times I was ushered to the front of assemblies and events, a trophy for my school. I was being swept up again, as if I had never left. It felt so familiar, and embarrassing all over again. I was seated in the front row and the superintendent and my former principal began assailing me and the crowd with praise, praise for my year in Tijuana, gratefulness for my return and declarations of mutual love between me and my former students. When my kids spontaneously rose and cheered emphatically, smiling and waving at me, I suddenly realized I was going to cry. It has been a long year, and I forgot how good it felt to be appreciated, for whatever reason.

I stayed for all of the ceremonies. My face hurt from smiling so hard. I had lipstick smeared on my face from hugging and kissing so many people...Hector, Roberto, my exchange partner, Josefina...all the familiar faces from that year that went so fast. The second ceremony of the day was for the formerly dreaded Electronics students, my bobcats, the kids that gave me a run for my money when I arrived in TJ and grew to be some of my favorite students. I was horrified when I was ushered up on the stage next to the principal, superintendent, valedictorian....the police chief. This was not supposed to be my day, it was a day to recognize the kids. As the students filed up to receive their diplomas, shaking each hand at the table, I was eternally grateful for my placement. It was just so good to see their faces, to be able to congratulate them individually, to grasp their hands, one by one, to not skip a single person.

As the third ceremony began, I watched a dad walk slowly into the room, carrying a congratulatory plaque that many parents were giving their children. He wore Dickies pants and a baseball hat, his skin dark from the sun. He glanced furtively around the room and went outside, only to return with a balloon to accompany his plaque. He sat down for a minute, looking at the flowers the woman beside him carried. He went back outside, returning with a bouquet of red roses. I was again introduced to the crowd an met with surprised cheers from my kids who again jumped to their feet. After the ceremony, I chatted and snapped pictures with the kids. I realized this was the true end to my Tijuana teaching experience. It was the last time the students would all be in one place at one time. I would not be at another graduation ceremony, I wouldn't even know the students. Mine were leaving, finishing and embarking on the next stage in their lives. What I thought was the end last year really wasn't, this was.

The man in the Dickies pants wandered around, flowers, plaque and balloon in hand. Finally, his daughter spotted him. She burst into tears. He smiled and quickly whisked away a tear of his own.